


Burgundy and Your Leather Chair

by Keystoffees



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Nasty Benedict, Oral Sex, Smut, Wine, cumbersmut, dominant benedict
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keystoffees/pseuds/Keystoffees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Benedict sends his servant out to do his chicken shopping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burgundy and Your Leather Chair

I handled the two packages carefully while I tried to focus on the contents, checking them for size and colour. They looked identical to me, but he would most certainly find something to criticise, whichever one I took back. I sighed and rubbed my forehead with my ice cold fingers. My head was spinning enough already with all the other tasks I was attempting to carry around in it. Surely one pack of chicken was almost the same as the other? 

I made a decision and threw one of them into the basket. I would have to live with it when I got back, and I swallowed as I thought about making him cross with me. Again. 

It seemed just about anything could set him off and he would fly into a rage. I was never sure what it would be, either; sometimes it was the way I had ironed his favourite blue shirt, other times it was because he couldn't find his beloved black framed glasses. And most of the time, well, he always found a way to release his frustration and it usually involved me. As his hired help, I knew he was taking advantage of me, and I hadn't actually said it was ok. But I'd never told him to stop either. 

I'd stopped trying to predict his mood one day when I was so nervous I'd burst into tears in front of him. It was the one thing that seemed to prevent him taking things too far; it just made him look at me with pitiful eyes and he had left me alone to calm myself. I realised that day that I needed his outbursts as much as he needed me to accede to them. 

But that didn't stop me feeling on edge, wondering what the catalyst for his aggression would be. I had come to live quite well with the constant flutter in the pit of my stomach, and I definitely slept well at night after burning so much nervous energy. I sometimes wondered if he had any emotional attachment to me, or if I was merely fulfilling a physical need. He had probably become a physical need for me, and I didn't want to think about what would happen if I ever stopped working for him. 

Subconsciously, I rubbed at my left wrist, where a small grey bruise sat, the result of him being turned down for a part the previous week. He had held me so tightly as he'd fucked me from behind that I'd had to wear long sleeves for 3 days after. It hadn't hurt at the time. 

I paid for his groceries and packed up the car carefully. 

"Mr Cumberbatch?" I called as I let myself in through the wide front door. Silence greeted me and I sighed in relief. I would be able to unpack the shopping in relative peace before he came home.

I worked quickly and was pleased that I had put away all the food and other purchases when I heard his key in the lock. I looked quickly at the bottles of wine I had picked up; these were possibly the most contentious items I had bought. He liked to buy expensive bottles to drink with his friends, and he was becoming increasingly knowledgable about what was considered "good". I knew a little myself but I wondered if these would be acceptable to him or if I would be punished for having opted for a classic Burgundy instead of a new world Shiraz. 

He came in to the kitchen, leafing through his post, which I had left on the hall table. I usually tried to sort it for him, into what appeared to be personal or professional but sometimes it was impossible to tell by the envelope. He smacked the pile down on the reclaimed wood table and ran his hands through his hair. 

"Good evening. Did you get the shopping done?" He said without looking at me, instead glancing around the kitchen, possibly for signs of misplaced utensils or crockery. 

"Yes, sir," I answered.

"How many times do I have to say, you don't have to call me sir." 

"Yes. Benedict. Thank you." It always started like this. 

"W-would you like some tea?" I asked him gently.

"Yes. I'll be in my study, if you don't mind?" 

My breath quickened as his deep voice rolled around my head. I filled the kettle and waited for him to leave the room, concentrating hard on trying to calm myself, failing to control my pulse which was racing as the heat started between my legs. 

He paused on his way out of the room and looked over the wine bottles standing on the table, waiting to be taken down to the cellar. I could hear my breath as I tried to steep his teabag for just the right length of time. Muttering under his breath, he stalked into his study and closed the door. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, counting to five as I released it. Pouring in the milk and adding a spoonful of sugar, I stood and wondered whether I should provide a biscuit or two, but decided it was unnecessary at this hour. I would be preparing dinner in an hour. 

My legs were shaking as I stood outside the door of his study and tapped lightly on the dark wood panel. Hearing him growl an "Mmmm," I placed my hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly. I still wasn't sure from the conversation in the kitchen which way this would go; what mood was he in? 

When the door opened, I saw him sitting to the side of his desk, one of the wine bottles in his huge hand. He was frowning at the label. I forced my legs to work, walking in and carefully placing the mug of steaming tea down on his desk, remembering to slide a coaster underneath it as I did. 

"Hmm. This one looks cheap. Did you do that on purpose." He looked up at me through his eyebrows, steely eyes boring into me. I swear he could look into my soul. 

"Um. I, er, I thought it looked ok." I stammered. 

He laughed, except we both knew it wasn't funny. "Did you?"

He stood, squaring his shoulders up to me, using his height to intimidate me. I swallowed and lifted my chin up, an act of defiance I knew - hoped - would send him over the edge. 

He gazed down at me and instead of throwing the bottle at the wall like I wanted him to, put it softly down on the table. Taking my cheek in his hand, he bent down and brushed my lips lightly with his mouth. His eyes were still on me, scrutinising me as his breath hit my hot skin and the throbbing between my legs became an ache I couldn't ignore. 

"Sit in my chair." He growled. 

"W-what?" I blinked at him.

"DON'T make me say it again." 

I sat down. He moved to around the back of the desk and opened a drawer, picking out a corkscrew and walking back to stand right in front of me. His elegant fingers worked the corkscrew on the bottle of wine and he picked up a glass which sat on a tray on his desk. Pouring an inch into the glass, he knelt in front of me and looked into my eyes again, and I couldn't make out whether he was as cross as I wanted him to be. 

Swirling the dark red liquid in the bottom of the glass, he leant forward and took a deep breath from the glass. 

"Here." He handed me the glass and I held out a shaking hand to grab the stem. I buried my nose into it and tilted it up to take a sip. 

"NO!" His voice raised and I thought I could detect that he was trying to control his temper this time. 

"Slowly." 

I half-smiled at him and took a slower sip, letting the alcohol burn my throat as I swallowed slowly

"Well?" He asked. 

"I, I don't know, it tastes alright to me." I didn't know what to say. 

Suddenly he grabbed the glass out of my hand and put it back on the desk. I gasped as the familiar fire rose in his eyes, darkening them, his lips beginning to form a snarl. 

"We will have to work on your wine knowledge. And your... tasting." He said as he stood and unbuckled his belt. I swallowed again and wished there was some water in the dark office, eyeing his cooling tea, but deciding against reaching out towards it. 

"Take off your trousers." He commanded.

Any fight I had in me had long since evaporated and I complied with his order. I removed my trousers and panties and sat back down on the edge of the antique leather chair, barely able to speak I was longing for him to touch me so much. He knelt down in front of me again and pushed me back in the chair so that I was spread out in front of him, my arousal perfectly obvious to him as he looked over me slowly.

He licked his lips and placed his hands on my knees, gripping me tightly and pulling my legs apart further. I heard myself whimper as his tongue made contact and he groaned into me, his voice vibrating right through into my spine.

His tongue ran over my clit slowly and it felt like heaven; he was rarely so gentle, although it was usual for him to please me before he allowed himself to release. I closed my eyes and revelled in the pleasure I could feel building, his hot breath against my skin adding to the anticipation. My hands found their way to my nipples and I tugged hard as I started to forget where I was. 

Just as I was on the brink of my orgasm, he stopped, taking away his tongue and his breath and the long fingers wrapped around my legs. I opened my eyes to see him staring at me, watching me as I caressed myself, his hand making it's way down into his trousers as he did. I fought with myself and held his gaze, staring into those blue green eyes as his trousers and underpants fell to the floor and he stroked himself lazily in front of me. 

I watched his large hand sliding back and forth against himself and slid a hand down to mirror his actions on my own centre. I opened my mouth and blinked slowly as we watched each other, caught in the headlights of each other's movements.

"Stand. Now." He gasped at me.

Sitting down on his leather chair, he pulled me down with him and I straddled his lap as he slid himself into me. I hooked my legs over the low arms of the chair and used it as leverage to grind down on him, hitting the right spot for me, letting him thrust up into me hard.

His pace became increasingly frantic as he fucked me and his hands tore at my chest, pinching my nipples through my blouse and bra. I felt the pressure building as I rocked against him, our lips touching but never actually kissing. I lost control and came hard, shuddering into his shoulder, crying out his name, using the shortened version as I knew this was the only time he would tolerate me calling him "Ben." 

He kept his pace, carrying me through wave after wave as his cock hit the right place inside me and his fingers twisted my hard nipples. I shouted for him to stop but he didn't; instead fucking harder and harder until he let out a roar and I felt his entire body tense and then relax.

Finally, he panted against my neck, slowing his movements and wrapping his arms around my body. He had never done this before; held me after he'd fucked me. I didn't know what to do except close my eyes and breathe in the scent of his sweat and our sex. 

Allowing me to stand, helping me to steady myself against his shoulder as my legs shook, he stopped me as I bent to grab my trousers. He leaned forward and picked them up, handing them to me and smiling kindly. 

"Shall I make dinner tonight?" He said.

I nodded and forced a grateful smile.

"I got chicken." I said, and I hoped to god I'd bought the wrong sort.


End file.
